


Forgotten Dreams

by sapphocles (freckles42)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Avada Kedavra, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, Mindfuck, Smut, dark and smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:07:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1567349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckles42/pseuds/sapphocles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny dreams of Tom every year and it's hard to remember - and impossible to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgotten Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [its_art](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=its_art).



> Originally written for the 2007 wizard_love exchange.

She slipped into bed as she did every night, but knew it would not be like the others. It was only this night ( _the night Harry first talked to Him the night Harry first talked to **Him**_ He was _hers_ not _his_ and why couldn’t he have just left it well enough alone?) that she would be able to return to Him. She turned her back on Neville and curled up, shying away from his touches. If only his face were longer, his eyes darker, his frame narrower and chest less soft, she might be able to close her eyes and let him take her. Even his hair was the wrong colour – and he wasn’t forceful, not the way that _He_ could be. He was tender and loving and good _gods_ he was touching her _again_. She tugged the sheets tighter around herself, hoping he’d get the hint. The bed went still and she finally permitted herself to drift off.

It was Valentine’s. Every year on this night, she would have the same dream. On no other night would it grace her (no matter how much she secretly hoped for it) and on no other night of the year would she tremble in her sleep.

When she opened her eyes, she was back in the Chamber.

The damp stone of the Chamber’s floor was cool through her socks (why she was never given shoes, she never knew and never thought to ask). She was back in her old school uniform; the woolen jumper itched her arms and the back of her neck. She followed the ritual, of course – one step, two steps, angle a little. Pause. Glance to the right, then at the ceiling, and then – 

“Such a silly girl.”

Right on cue. The voice was his, of course.

Step backwards, turn her shoulder just _so_ , wait for the strange tension in her heel to erupt. There it is. Stop again.

“Turn around.”

His voice was high, higher than it should have been for a boy his age. The first time she’d heard him speak she had wanted to ask if he sang in the choir. When she had been younger, her parents had taken them one time into Ottery St. Catchpole to do holiday shopping. That had been the first, last, and only time, thanks to Fred and George starting a small fire in one of the sweet shops. There had been a choir from the local parish that was singing Christmas carols as people went about the town. His voice reminded Ginny of the boy who had sung one of the solos on the church steps – unexpectedly high, but strangely enchanting.

She turned, feeling gravel pressing through her socks against the ball of her feet.

“Tom,” she spoke his name, which she knew she was not supposed to do. He stood there across from her, at the mouth of Slytherin. From this angle, he appeared to be standing on the water, though she knew it was just a trick of the light ( _a trick of the light, a trick of her mind, the Chamber was gone, don’t forget,_ don’t forget _hush_ ). An angry flash through his eyes, and then a sinisterly calm smile.

“Ginevra.” 

How was it that in one word he could convey such utter contempt for her, as if she were a toy to play with and break? She lifted her chin in defiance of him. This time, she’d brought her wand with her.

“Oh, my sweet Ginny,” he said, walking across the water ( _not a ripple, how did he do that?_ ) until his feet hit the stone. Why couldn’t she move?

“It’s that time again,” he whispered as his body came close to hers. “Happy Valentine’s Day. Don’t let me down, Ginny.”

And she was cold, stripped naked before she could protest, and he was, too, but her wand was still in her hand ( _don’t let go of it, you can’t let go, if you do we will lose it all, who is ‘we’?_ ). Then there was Tom, as naked as she was, his wood in one hand and his wood in the other, stroking idly as he stood a mere foot from her, gazing into her eyes.

“Down,” she said, force in her tone feeling false in her chest. “Down and,” her voice cracked before regaining its strength, “make me yours.”

Some years he wanted to lord himself over her, and she would find himself sucking him off, knees getting bloody on the gravel floor as he fucked her face before coming in bitter bursts down her throat. Those years he would turn her onto her hands and knees and enter her from behind, long fingers digging into her hips as he fucked her. Her face would press into the loose pebbles scattered along the floor of the Chamber, and she would fix her eyes upon Salazar Slytherin’s, believing she wanted this, that she deserved it.

In other years he would want to own her by making her force him to do as she wanted – but she knew if she asked for the wrong thing that the punishment would be dire, indeed; at least once he had ended the dream right then and there. That had been the worst year, when she’d woken up and immediately been sick into her rubbish bin. 

It looked like it was going to be one of _those_ dreams.

Tom slowly sank down, nose brushing between her small, freckled breasts. Ginny let out a hiss when he deviated from his course and began to suck on one of her breasts, pulling it into his mouth. His tongue danced over the nipple, drawing it up, coaxing it harder before moving to the other and doing the same.

“I said, _down_ ,” she managed, looking down at his dark eyes, which had never left hers. “ Down, Tom.”

He obeyed, nipping along her skin to her slightly rounded stomach, brushing over it before he moved lower. Cool air teased her, making her moan as pressed through the unruly tangle of hair at the conjunction of her legs. His fingers slid up her thighs and slowly pried her legs apart. A moan escaped her lips, despite all she tried to tell herself ( _she wouldn’t enjoy it this time, oh no, she would hate every moment of it why was she here?_ ). She forgot this, though, as she found her leg hooked over his shoulder, his hand on her arse, supporting her. A freckled hand on his pale shoulder, finding purchase as his tongue began to explore her.

His tongue delved into her folds, sucking eagerly, drinking her up ( _oh, she was wet, she didn’t mean to be wet, she was sorry but oh don’t stop!_ ). Her other hand tightened in his hair, pushing his mouth onto her harder as she rocked against his face.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she bit out as she felt the angle shift, his tongue pushing away from her clit and up into her hair. And then:

“Ohhh.”

She let out a loud moan ( _oh how it reverberated up and down the Chamber, chasing itself, coming back to her, bringing her an unfamiliar echo of herself_ ) as one slender finger penetrated her, then two, a third curled against her arsehole as he kept pushing. She groaned and then tightened the grip on his hair even more as his lips moved back to her clit.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” she got out, feeling the inevitable ( _unwanted, oh gods, but how she craved it_ ) heat coiling in her stomach, nerve endings raw. She couldn’t stop her hips from thrusting against his face, small tits bouncing.

“Tom!” she cried as the flood overtook her. She whimpered, her fingers curled and pressing so hard into her palms that, somewhere deep, she knew that she had cut herself on her nails. She didn’t care, though; she just kept holding to him.

“Now,” he said, bringing her down to the cool floor and kneeling between her legs. “You are mine.”

He pushed into her, going halfway the first time, looking down at her. She closed her eyes as she felt him enter her. She could not help herself, though, and her hips lifted to meet his. A triumphant look passed through his eyes and he drove himself fully into her, grabbing hold of her waist as he began to fuck her.

Her legs went around his waist as he pounded her, and her hair was getting wet from a puddle of water. She couldn’t stop him, she never could ( _and yet she wanted more, make it harder, make it faster, Tom, fuck me, I deserve it, don’t stop, please don’t stop but oh gods, it should stop, why am I here?_ ). His grunts were fast as he drove himself into her, fingers pressing into her skin, claiming her as his own with every slap of skin against hers. Her shoulders dug into the floor, and she knew there would be red marks ( _but they would be given to her by _Him_ and that was all that mattered_ ). Her heels dug into the back of his legs as he continued his relentless claiming of her cunt.

“You are _mine!_ ,” he cried out as he slammed into her one final time, pulsing as he finished in her.

She moaned, barely able to register the wand in her hand.

The wand.

Quickly, Ginny ( _quickly, Ginny, quickly, don’t tarry or you’ll be tardy, the school bell will ring and it will all be over, don’t hesitate or dawdle or you’ll be writing lines_ and oh _gods_ , she _remembered_ ). Her fingers tightened around the wand as Tom laid his head upon her chest looking down her left arm, listening to the pounding of her heart ( _it’s not misplaced affection, but it is and I love you, Tom, please forgive me, they made me do it_ and then _oh gods, he killed him and my friends and half my family and I can’t forgive him anymore it’s not right, he can’t do this to me, I must break free of this spell!_ ). She pressed her wand against his shoulder blade.

“ _Stupefy_.”

He was frozen, and she pushed him off of her (he was still hard, she noticed, preserved forever that way), his eyes the only part of him that looked alive. She stood, arm shaking as she pointed her wand at him. He looked _proud_ of her, as though she’d finally achieved something instead of just being the pretty toy to fuck.

“It’s over, Tom,” she whispered. She knew that this would likely kill her, the way their minds ( _their souls, their beings, every part of them_ ) were shaped together. She could not live without him ( _she knew it literally, and if she lived but He did not then she did not want to survive, her mind would be empty without Him, His touches, His caresses, His words of affection_ ), nor did she want to.

She looked his body over one last time.

“I do this out of love. They always said that’s what would destroy you.”

She spoke strongly the two words that would end his life, and a green flash burst from her wand. His body went limp and his eyes were lifeless, as long last.

She crumpled to the floor next to him, staring up at the Chamber’s ceiling as the light around her faded.

* * *

Neville let out a quiet sob as he felt Ginny’s hand go slack in his. The beeps of St Mungo’s monitoring spells turned flat and the sudden scent of antiseptic made him feel ill.

She had sacrificed herself for them all.


End file.
